


Slip Slide and Away

by undercover_chicken



Series: DC Earth is Space Australia [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law (Cartoon), Justice League - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Batman can't mind his own goddam business, Bullshit depictions of how magic works, Gen, Harvey's here to if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercover_chicken/pseuds/undercover_chicken
Summary: Ostensibly, Bruce Wayne is in Fawcett City for business. In reality, for an investigation into the conundrum that is Captain Marvel and the deceased C. C. Batson, to whom the Captain bears a startling resemblance. But the nearer Bruce seems to get to his destination, the more it slip slides away.





	Slip Slide and Away

**Author's Note:**

> Almost no Harvey and Co. in this one-this is more about how Batman is handling the aftermath of how the magic affected him after the Thanagarian invasion. My otp with Harvey is in this chapter if you really squint. As in previous installments, be prepared for gratuitous bullshit on how magic works. If it doesn't make sense, please let me know and I will put it more in detail in an author's note.

Bruce is on the hunt, and is no further along in his investigation than when he started. He’s been stalking Captain Marvel for months in Fawcett. Frustratingly, the man seems to be able to pull an amazingly effective vanishing act whenever he disappears. There is little to no information about him anywhere online, and he reveals as little of his life to the press as he does to the League. While some could argue that he would have a right to privacy, Bruce is naturally nosy, and he also is loath to know so little about a man with the same powerset as Superman.

The current hypothesis is that the Captain is a Kryptonian. Marvel is extremely fast and strong, on levels that easily match those of Superman. But he is very secretive, on a level that rivals Bruce, and that bothers the man. What does the Captain have to hide?

Today finds him in plainclothes, sitting at a diner that would easily fit into 1940s to 1950s Americana. Fawcett is a strange city, seemingly existing stuck in time but timeless all at once. It’s not a feeling the Bruce can easily explain, even as he watches people dressed in an odd mixture of clothes that are both modern day and that would easily have fit in in the mid-20th century go about their business. Men walk by in suits wielding smart phones but with fedoras, and children sit on the stoop of a townhome, with little girls dolled up in dresses while watching a video on a tablet. A whale of a Cadillac with fins the size of a skyscraper and covered in chrome is parked on a street corner near a fire hydrant, while a policeman busily writing out ticket via tablet for it drives an old-style Mercury coupe patrol car that would easily be at home in the forties. Within the car, his donut-eating partner is examining the computer screen that is commonly found in modern police cars, even though the car is far too old to even still be in service. Even the villains that attack the city are more comedic than dangerous most days, and seem like they would be more at home in a comic book than in real life.

Bruce finally has a lead, but it’s another dead end. Facial recognition software he’s had trawling through the newspapers and newscasts for the past nine months have finally scored a hit. The Fawcett Bugle has finally digitized a lot of their old newspapers and put them online. A hit from over seven years before has shown up on facial recognition, and when Bruce examines it, it’s a man by the name of C. C. Batson. The problem? It’s an obituary: he died along with his wife Marilyn in an archaeological accident in Egypt seven years previously.

Captain Marvel wears the face of a dead man.

Bruce finishes his meal and finds himself headed into the Woolsworths five and dime store on the corner (didn’t Woolsworth go out of business in the 1980s?) down from the diner. While there, he nearly runs right into a man on the phone that is coming out of the store. 

Almost immediately, Bruce’s eyes are drawn to the large wings coming out of the man’s back and the mask he wears, distinctly Thanagarian. His eyes narrow-the Thanagarian invasion was several months ago and as far as he knows, there are no other Thanagarians left on Earth. This Thanagarian speaks English perfectly, is wearing a business suit, and, strangely enough, no one seems too disturbed that he is walking around the city. 

“Myron, under no circumstances are you allowed to let Judy cook! The last time she baked something the chicken was completely black and that cake came out with the consistency of concrete!”

“I don’t care if you can use your freaky mind garbage to help her! My house my rules!”

Bruce left several hundred dollars on the table, more than enough to pay for the meal and a tip, and got up quickly. Pulling out his own phone, he scrolled aimlessly through it as he followed the Thanagarian, who was obviously arguing with someone on the phone.

“I don’t care if you’re my goddam boyfriend and live with me! My name is the one on the paperwork in City Hall! Judy doesn’t get anywhere near that kitchen, you hear? I am not feeding Billy that swill! He’ll end up poisoned or something.”

The man abruptly jerked to one side as a massive, snarling tiger went running down the street, going for a large robot that was tearing up part of downtown Fawcett. Captain Marvel was already in the air, dodging the cars and random bits of building that it was throwing at him. Bruce starts to duck behind a dumpster, already ready to don the suit, but finds himself thrown off balance as a panicked construction worker shoves past him. His head smacks the side of the dumpster and he blacks out.

***

Bruce is on the hunt, and is no further along in his investigation than when he started. He’s been stalking Captain Marvel for months in Fawcett. Frustratingly, the man seems to be able to pull an amazingly effective vanishing act whenever he disappears. There is little to no information about him anywhere online, and he reveals as little of his life to the press as he does to the League. While some could argue that he would have a right to privacy, Bruce is naturally nosy, and he also is loath to know so little about a man with the same powerset as Superman.

The current hypothesis is that the Captain is a Kryptonian. Marvel is extremely fast and strong, on levels that easily match those of Superman. But he is very secretive, on a level that rivals Bruce, and that bothers the man. What does the Captain have to hide?

Today finds him in plainclothes, sitting at a diner that would easily fit into 1940s to 1950s Americana. Fawcett is a strange city, seemingly existing stuck in time but timeless all at once. It’s not a feeling the Bruce can easily explain, even as he watches people dressed in an odd mixture of clothes that are both modern day and that would easily have fit in in the mid-20th century go about their business. Men walk by in suits wielding smart phones but with fedoras, and children sit on the stoop of a townhome, with little girls dolled up in dresses while watching a video on a tablet. A whale of a Cadillac with fins the size of a skyscraper and covered in chrome is parked on a street corner near a fire hydrant, while a policeman busily writing out ticket via tablet for it drives an old-style Mercury coupe patrol car that would easily be at home in the forties. Within the car, his donut-eating partner is examining the computer screen that is commonly found in modern police cars, even though the car is far too old to even still be in service. Even the villains that attack the city are more comedic than dangerous most days, and seem like they would be more at home in a comic book than in real life.

Bruce finally has a lead, but it’s another dead end. Facial recognition software he’s had trawling through the newspapers and newscasts for the past nine months have finally scored a hit. The Fawcett Bugle has finally digitized a lot of their old newspapers and put them online. A hit from over seven years before has shown up on facial recognition, and when Bruce examines it, it’s a man by the name of C. C. Batson. The problem? It’s an obituary: he died along with his wife Marilyn in an archaeological accident in Egypt seven years previously.

Captain Marvel wears the face of a dead man.

Bruce finishes his meal and finds himself headed into the Woolsworths five and dime store on the corner (didn’t Woolsworth go out of business in the 1980s?) down from the diner. After he comes out of the store, he is distracted by the sight of Captain Marvel taking on a man a green outfit with swastikas. The fight turns nastier and nastier, with whole blocks of buildings going down and tons of damage. Lighting bolts from the Captain scatter everywhere, and a storm kicks up, getting more and more violent. Lightning sears before Bruce’s eyes, and all he sees is light.

***

Bruce is on the hunt, and is no further along in his investigation than when he started. He’s been stalking Captain Marvel for months in Fawcett. Frustratingly, the man seems to be able to pull an amazingly effective vanishing act whenever he disappears. There is little to no information about him anywhere online, and he reveals as little of his life to the press as he does to the League. While some could argue that he would have a right to privacy, Bruce is naturally nosy, and he also is loath to know so little about a man with the same powerset as Superman.

The current hypothesis is that the Captain is a Kryptonian. Marvel is extremely fast and strong, on levels that easily match those of Superman. But he is very secretive, on a level that rivals Bruce, and that bothers the man. What does the Captain have to hide?

Today finds him in plainclothes, sitting at a diner that would easily fit into 1940s to 1950s Americana. Fawcett is a strange city, seemingly existing stuck in time but timeless all at once. It’s not a feeling the Bruce can easily explain, even as he watches people dressed in an odd mixture of clothes that are both modern day and that would easily have fit in in the mid-20th century go about their business. Men walk by in suits wielding smart phones but with fedoras, and children sit on the stoop of a townhome, with little girls dolled up in dresses while watching a video on a tablet. A whale of a Cadillac with fins the size of a skyscraper and covered in chrome is parked on a street corner near a fire hydrant, while a policeman busily writing out ticket via tablet for it drives an old-style Mercury coupe patrol car that would easily be at home in the forties. Within the car, his donut-eating partner is examining the computer screen that is commonly found in modern police cars, even though the car is far too old to even still be in service. Even the villains that attack the city are more comedic than dangerous most days, and seem like they would be more at home in a comic book than in real life.

Bruce blinks and rubs his eyes as half images dance around the edges of his mind. He’s had a migraine ever since he came into the city, and it keeps getting worse. Shadowy, illusory pictures dance around the edges of his vision, and they only get worse. Memories that don’t match up to what he is seeing keep surfacing, and the sense of déjà vu is getting more and more powerful. The very atmosphere in the city seems almost as if it is getting more oppressive.  
One of the senses that Bruce prides himself the most on is his sense of intuition-it is rarely wrong, and is practically screaming at him. The feeling of wrongness is getting worse and worse, and the itch in his mind has only gotten more insistent the more time he spends at the table. 

The sense of wrong finally drives him to leave the city that afternoon, even though he planned to spend more time there. The migrane he is experiencing has become almost unbearable, and he feels almost as though he can’t think straight. Immediately after leaving the city, the feeling of wrong fades, though the itch in his mind still lingers.

It’s as though a fog has lifted from his mind, and Bruce abruptly realizes what’s going on. He’s encountered magic of the mind-altering type before, and the symptoms he is experiencing match up to those times perfectly. Internally, he snarls. Bruce hates just about all magic-most of it doesn’t make sense, and he usually ends up on the short end of the stick when magic is involved, as it is one of the few things he has trouble countering. He has a particular loathing for the mind-altering variety, as he is well aware his greatest advantage is his mind and despises anything that might try to coerce him.

Two weeks later, with a clear mind and a renewed sense of purpose, Bruce heads back to Fawcett on State Route 77, determined to investigate the mystery. Almost immediately upon merging onto I-27, the outer bounds of the city, he begins to feel the oppressive feel of the magic. And unlike the other varieties he’s encountered before, this one exudes a tempestuous aura of nothing but pure power, and an almost sentient methodology to the way it behaves. 

When he’s been around Zatara as he works magic, the effect was always that of a calm, slow moving stream. This is nothing similar. It is as though it is a raging river, swollen with floodwater and able to tear down anything or anyone that stands in its way. But Bruce resists. He refuses to bend to the magic, taking out every meditation and mind shielding trick he has learned over the years to keep it out, and it works, albeit barely. Grimly, Bruce holds his own as the magic tears through his mind and roars at his shields, trying to break them. Rather than trying to stand strong against it, he allows it to flow around him, acting not as a rock in a river but as someone who is just trying to keep his head above the water and not drown.

Bruce suddenly finds himself on State Route 77, headed out of the city, all pressure on his mind gone. The tempestuous mess that had attacked his mind is gone, but he’s going the wrong way. He turns the car around and tries again. And again. And again. And again. And yet, he always finds himself on State Route 77 headed south after he knows he just merged onto I-27 North.

A later visit that night as Batman in the Batwing reveals a similar phenomenon. Every time he flies the Batwing towards the city, it always seems to be just in front of him, but he never reaches it. Time and time again he finds himself turned around. It is maddening. Never again does the magic try to break his mental shields as it did before. He just constantly finds himself going in the wrong direction. After trying long into the night with various approaches, Batman is finally forced to give up.

***

The next day finds him visiting Zatara and his young daughter Zatanna. He explains the phenomenon to Zatara, hoping his friend might be able to tell him more. But as he describes the feeling he experienced when attacked by the magic to Zatara, the man’s brow creases.

“What you are dealing with sounds like it is a form of feral magic. Very powerful, very difficult to control, and very dangerous. Magic comes in three forms: orderly, feral, and primal. Orderly is the type of magic that I, Doctor Fate, and most all magic users use. That is the one that we can control with magic words and most artifacts. It is quite easy to deal with and rather docile, though it can be dangerous if you do not know what you are doing. It typically is found in the side-lines, the smaller ones. The largest ones are more difficult to access and control, so most magic users avoid them.”

“Feral magic is different. It comes from ley lines, is extremely dangerous, and almost uncontrollable. If you compare side-lines to a slow moving stream, ley lines would be a large and dangerous river with rapids. You can boat it but only if you know how to navigate it and have the proper equipment. Feral magic can only be controlled with the help of certain artifacts. I will admit that I am not an expert on the subject.”

“What about primal magic?” Bruce asks, curious. While he’s done studies on magic, he’s never truly done any study on magic itself or completely how it works-it’s usually how to block or negate it. 

“No one can control primal magic-it can’t be done. Primal magic comes straight from the source of magic, the Rock of Eternity, through nodes, and eventually spills out, creating ley lines. Trying to control it is a fools errand-it is suicide. No one has ever done it. But back to your feral magic problem. I’m going to call an acquaintance of mine, John Constantine. He dabbles in all sorts of things he probably shouldn’t, but it does make him the best person to ask about things like this and dealing with feral magic.”

A week later, they head to Fawcett in a rental car. Constantine is a strange man, wearing a trenchcoat and rather standoffish, but Bruce has seen stranger and he can relate to John’s desire to be left alone. It is obvious he doesn’t want to be here, and is only as a favor to Zatara. As they approach the city, Constantine shifts more and more often, looking more and more uncomfortable. His eyes dart back and forth, and his muttering to himself becomes almost constant. Abruptly, he throws up his hands and bellows “Stop!!”

Bruce pulls the car over at a long abandoned gas station on the side of Route 77, and they step out of the car. Ten feet away from them, a sign proclaims “FAWCETT CITY LIMIT.” Constantine glances at it, and then says to Zatara, “Can you feel it?”

“I feel something, and it definitely does not want us here,” Zatara confirms. Both of them seem on edge.

John cautiously approaches the innocuous looking sign. When he sets one foot past it, the air around him abruptly shimmers, and then lights up like a psychedelic rainbow disco light show. With the strange light show shimmering around him, he grimaces and then backs up past the sign quickly. The light show doesn’t dim.

“What the hell is it?” Bruce barks.

“Wards,” Constantine says grimly. “Very powerful ones that are specifically keyed to magic users. Whomever set them knew exactly what they were doing too-I can’t get rid of them and I can already feel them calling back to the person who set them to come to this location.”

“I’m also picking up on what must have been affecting you Bruce. There is some serious stuff at work here. I’d love to discuss it, but I suggest we go somewhere a good distance away from here before whomever set these wards decides to show up, because I can definitely tell you I don’t really want to meet them. This stuff is so powerful I don’t even think that Thanagarian Nth metal would make a dent.”

Quickly piling into the rental car, Bruce turns the car around and peels out of the gas station, burning rubber. Thankfully, as they put more and more distance between them and the city limit sign, Constantine’s ridiculous light show starts to dim until it finally vanishes. The ride back to the Batcave is silent.  
None of them notice the figure in the air over the abandoned gas station, who disappears in a swirl of white and red as soon as their car is out of sight.

***

“Ok, first of all, that was fucking primal magic.”

“Zatara said no one can use it.”

“I did, but I have to agree with Constantine. That was definitely primal magic, it was far too powerful to be feral. Though I have no idea who could have set those wards or controlled it. This is indeed worrying.”

Constantine throws back his head and laughs. “Aw hell no mates, there are two and, I repeat, only two people alive who can control primal magic. And we should be celebrating the fact that we hit those wards.”

Bruce and Zatara both turn on Constantine, irritated at his making light of the situation.

A grinning Constantine says, “The Champion, you performing buffoon. Magic has a new Champion. He, or she, was the one who set those wards.”

A stunned look came over Zatara’s face, and then a look of dawning horror. “So that means that…Adam is coming back,” he whispered hoarsely.  
A confused Bruce looks between both men, searching for answers.

Subdued, Constantine starts explaining to Bruce. “All magic comes from a single source, the Rock of Eternity. It is a physical plane that exists out of space and time, in Nowhere. It also serves as a prison for the Seven Deadly Sins of Man. Needless to say, it is immensely powerful, and important. It has exactly two connections to the physical plane of existence-one is an entrance in Hell, and the other is an entrance here on Earth.”

“The Wizard Shazam guards the Rock itself. Every few hundred years, he choses a Champion to guard the entrance of the Rock here on Earth. The entrance itself is guarded heavily by magic wards. Due to the nature of the Rock, it will bend time and space itself. I guarantee if you go to Fawcett, it seems timeless.”

Bruce nodded- he now remembered the eclectic mix of eras and the strange feelings he had while in the city. 

“The magic wards will actively protect the city, the Champion, and the entrance to the Rock. They will alter your perceptions and sometimes your mind if they or the Champion determine you to be a threat. If that doesn’t work, they will physically deter you from entering. If that doesn’t work, then they call on the Champion to forcefully remove you from the area, or dispose of you.”

“But how would it have identified me as a threat?” 

“Any sort of magic anything would have set it off,” Constantine replied. 

“I wasn’t carrying anything on me. I was in plainclothes, not the suit, and at a restaurant eating. There’s no reason that it could have known unless it can read minds.”

“It can read intentions but it shouldn’t have targeted you like that. Unless…….”

“What?” Bruce snapped.

“…the Champion must know who you are. It would make sense-he didn’t show up, but the magic made enough trouble to get you to leave.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. With how jealously he guarded his identity, this was a major issue for him. He would definitely be looking into it later. 

Changing the subject, Bruce inquired, “What about that psychedelic rainbow light show on you earlier?” 

“Magic users are a bit different. From what I could tell, the ward activates basically what you could consider a beacon that lights you up like a laser light show so there is no way you can hide. Magic users are dangerous because unlike common schmucks like you, we can actually tell there is something very, very powerful there, and may deduce the entrance’s presence, like I did. It lit up and immediately called the Champion. They were there-I could sense their presence. They weren’t trying to mask it at all, but they didn’t move to attack us, so obviously didn’t consider us a threat.”

“The only problem now is that now the Champion is back, it must mean that Adam is close to waking up.” At Bruce’s confused look, Constantine continued, “Black Adam is a former Champion who fell. He started to use his powers for personal gain and dark arts, which caused him to turn. By doing so, he became an Oathbreaker. When you swear an oath laced with magic, its different. If you break your oath, the result can drive you mad, which is what happened with Adam. He is one of only two people in the world who can use primal magic, and the only person who can stand against him is the Champion. Since his body is a magical construct, he can’t truly be killed. The Champion can only put him in a sleep that he eventually wakes from. Not even Superman could stand against the guy.”

***

Extensive research had led Bruce to mentions of Black Adam, especially in the history of areas such as Ancient Egypt and Khandak. Across all mentions, the depiction was almost always similar. A fearsome looking man with amber eyes and dark hair, he wore a variation of a black suit emblazoned with a golden lightning bolt across the chest.

Clark had come over to Gotham earlier that evening chasing Amazo, much to Bruce’s chagrin. However, he had come bearing a pie from his mother as appeasement, and that had left Bruce somewhat mollified. He now sat at the Batcomputer compiling some more of his research while Clark prattled on about how he was trying to talk to Captain Marvel about their shared Kryptonian heritage, but Marvel kept somehow finding excuses to run off. Bruce was already irritated towards Clark for showing up in his city and causing so much damage earlier, and was quickly developing a migraine for some reason the more Clark prattled on about Marvel. The feeling of something being wrong was back with a vengeance. 

Dick came in still in his Nightwing getup and flopped dramatically across the side of the Batcomputer with an overblown groan, overly theatrical for someone his age. Moving his hand and glancing up at the depiction of Black Adam Bruce currently had on screen, he said, “Huh, that guy’s outfit kind of looks like Cap’s. Oh, hey Clark. You brought pie? Awesome!”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened on the picture, and he could definitely see the resemblance. Pieces began to fall into place with disturbing ease. And it was suddenly as though things slotted neatly into their proper places in his brain, with some of the half-memories that had haunted his sleep and waking hours since the Thanagarian invasion coming more into focus. They were still hazy in many respects, but there was one thing he was sure of, and that he remembered very clearly. 

“You’re wrong Clark.”

Clark jerked slightly from where he had been talking earnestly with Dick, “About what?”

“Marvel. And know that I think about it, he shouldn’t exist.”

Clark and Dick came over to the computer as Bruce called up the news article. “Archaeologists Clarence Charles Batson and his wife Marilyn died in a suspicious accident in Egypt while investigating an ancient tomb. By all counts, Captain Marvel died a decade ago.”

The three of them looked at the article in silence for a few moments.

“So, Mr. Batson somehow faked his own death,” Clark said pensively. “It is possible for him to be Kryptonian though-the data I have says we live a long time and we don’t age as fast normal humans.”

“You think he came back from the dead?” Dick said, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know. The more I dig the more questions I find-he’s annoyingly more contrary and secretive than I am. There are only two things I’m sure of.”

“One, he is the newest Champion of Magic. And two, that means trouble ahead.”


End file.
